


days when the rain came

by weasleytook



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weasleytook/pseuds/weasleytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can't talk to anyone, can't even look at them. Except maybe Wick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	days when the rain came

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muir_Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/gifts).



> For Marie, you get my first ever fic in this fandom. Happy Skraw!
> 
> (Takes place post 2x08.)

Raven doesn’t talk to anyone at camp for a week after Finn dies. Not Bellamy, not Abby and certainly not Clarke.

Logic tells her that Clarke only did what she had to. Logic says that Clarke actually spared Finn from a long, slow, torturous death. She’s not mad at Clarke, she understands, but she’s just not ready to look at her yet.

She’s also smart enough to know that the Finn Collins who died wasn’t _her_ Finn, the one who risked his freedom to give her a dream. That Finn had been gone for a long time, even long before what happened with the Grounders. Finn had to be punished, she understood it in her mind, but it still tore her heart out.

So she does what she always does instead of dealing with her feelings: she works. Every project she can get her hands on. She works every day until she falls asleep with her head on her workbench and a wrench in her hand.

Raven isn’t even sure how she gets from the workbench and into her bed, but she suspects its Wick. She’s not speaking to him either, but at least she can look at him without feeling sad or angry. Wick didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Finn and he’s the only person who hasn’t tried to ask her if she’s okay. He just works across from her, mostly quiet, sometimes whistling a tune that she vaguely recognizes, sometimes muttering instructions to himself. 

He’s in the same room as her every day but he gives her space. Everyone else could be a mile away and still try to suffocate her with their worries and concerns for her emotional well-being. Wick just wants to work. He doesn’t bug her (except for the whistling sometimes), he occasionally brings her food when she looks weak or tired and he’s developed a weird way of knowing when she needs a tool or a diagram before she even asks for it.

She ventures out to get some fresh air on the seventh day. Seven days, twelve hours and forty-two minutes since Clarke shoved a knife into Finn. 

Raven tells herself she’s strong enough to deal with it but it feels like every set of eyes in camp is on her, so she turns and runs back to the safety of her workbench.

Wick has a strange look on his face and she can see the words forming on his lips, she’s about to hear him ask if she’s okay any second now so she just gives him a stern look and he puts his head down and goes back to work, whistling that same tune as usual.

An hour later and his whistling has turned into full-blown singing, some song she doesn’t know about a brown-eyed girl. When he gets to his fifteenth iteration of a line that is full of ‘sha la la’ and ‘la dee dah’, she grabs her thickest wrench and marches over to his work area.

“If you sha la la in my direction one more time, I’m going to shove this wrench up your –“

“Nose?”

“Worse.”

She doesn’t know what she expects him to do, but breaking out into a wide grin is not it. “Hey, look at you, you _can_ talk after all.”

“Only because you were about to annoy me to death.”

“Whatever works.”

“This was strategy?”

“I figured if giving you space for a week didn’t work, then maybe it was time to drive you insane.”

Raven sighs and lays the wrench down on the table next to her. “I just – I don’t want to talk about _that_.”

Wick shrugs and she finds it frustrating that he’s this carelessly charming even while she’s still a mess. “I don’t either. I just wanted to make sure your vocal chords don’t get atrophied. We can talk about whatever you want.”

“That song? What is it?”

“Something from here, before everything went to shit, I guess. My dad picked it up from somewhere, because he used to sing it to my mom when I was a kid, called her his brown-eyed girl.”

Raven smiles, just slightly, and it feels funny, like someone just took ten pounds of weight off her chest. Now she just has to worry about the other hundred pounds weighing her down. She picks up her wrench and turns to head back to her workbench, but before she gets all the way there, she turns back to him with a smirk. 

“I hope your dad was a better singer than you are.”

Wick puts his hand on his chest in mock pain and replies, “Now there’s the Raven Reyes I know and sometimes tolerate.”

Raven always knew she could get through it. She can get through anything, always has and always will. But she realizes now she doesn’t have to get through it alone.


End file.
